


The Moment That is Thine

by Saucery



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (2014)
Genre: Adolescent Sexuality, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, At Least To Begin With, Awkwardness, Bigotry & Prejudice, Bullying, Cliche, Comedy, Courtship, Crushes, Cultural References, Drama, Ensemble Cast, Friendship, Geeks, Heteronormativity, Homophobia, Humor, Jocks, M/M, Motley Crew, Nerdiness, Opposites Attract, Peer Pressure, Pop Culture, Romance, Romantic Comedy, Social Commentary, Stereotypes, Sweet, Teenagers, Triggers, Tropes, Unrequited Love, Wooing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-12
Updated: 2014-08-30
Packaged: 2018-02-12 21:04:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2124663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saucery/pseuds/Saucery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter is a glee club nerd who only has weirdos for friends. There's the military fangirl and karate champion, Gamora; the droopy-eyed pothead and tree-hugger, Groot; and the tiny bespectacled science prodigy with anger management issues, Rocket. Drax is a broad-shouldered jock way too popular to fit into their group of misfits, but inexplicably, he does, especially after he decides that Peter is the love of his life.</p><p>Peter just wants to survive high school without getting lynched by the football team, who seem to hold Peter responsible for somehow turning their captain gay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from [this quote](http://www.searchquotes.com/quotation/Lose_not_yourself_in_a_far_off_time,_seize_the_moment_that_is_thine./187406/) by Friedrich Schiller.

* * *

 

“Check it out,” said Rocket, pushing his glasses up his nose, his eyes huge and magnified through the thick lenses. “Destroyer at two o’clock.”

“Shit,” Peter cursed, and slid down his chair, adjusting his baseball cap so that it (hopefully) shadowed his features. “Don’t look at him. Don’t even _breathe_ in his general direction, okay? The last thing I need is for him to read me another sonnet about how I’m comparable to a summer’s day. It’ll only end with me getting wedgied when he isn’t looking.”

“It would be more tactically wise to accept his suit and have him accompany you everywhere,” Gamora advised, placidly, “thereby protecting you from wedgies.” She was sipping her disgustingly green homemade health drink with a patient sort of determination. It looked like algae in a bottle. Yuck.

“ _Or_ , instead of selling my ass for protection like a jailhouse twink, I could count on my Karate Kid bestie to defend me?”

“I’ll be disqualified and banned from competing if I indulge in acts of violence at school.”

“Only you could think of acts of violence as _indulgence_ ,” Peter muttered.

“I resent that,” Rocket frowned. “I enjoy indiscriminate rampages and occasional bouts of arson as much as anyone else, if not more.”

“We’re not discussing video games, here, Rocket.”

“Who said anything about games?”

Peter blinked. “I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that, Friendly Neighborhood Psycho-Man. Soooo, Groot. Wassup? What did you do on the weekend?”

Groot’s long, lanky frame was draped bonelessly over his chair, his legs stretching out for miles, his eyes droopy and dreamy. “Nothin’,” he said, but his thin, bony fingers carded briefly through Rocket’s hair, and Rocket visibly relaxed.

Perhaps the effects of pot could be spread by touch. Who would've thought?

“Peter Quill,” said a voice behind him, steady as a rock and deeper than a goddamn ravine.

Peter froze with his hand halfway to his fries.

“I am here, once again, to declare my love for you.”

An immediate hush descended on the dining hall. If this were a scene from _Harry Potter_ , there would totally be people with Extendable Ears trying to eavesdrop on the conversation.

Not that Peter was going to let it be much of a conversation.

“Please,” said Peter, “ _don’t_ come and get your love.”

“You are referring to Redbone’s 1974 rock hit.” Drax walked around the table until he was facing Peter—or rather, until he was staring at Peter and looming intimidatingly. He’d hunched his shoulders, though, as if he was trying to make himself smaller and less frightening, or as if he was nervous. But what did he have to be nervous about, with a posse of brawny sycophants devoted to him heart and soul? A cursory glance past Drax revealed that said posse was mysteriously absent; it must’ve taken Drax quite a while to ditch his lackeys. “I have been acquainting myself with your favorite songs.”

“How do you even know my favorite songs?”

“I have attended every glee club performance this year. As you are the president of the glee club, it follows that the songs performed by the club are songs you favor.”

“Why do you always sound like you’re a courtier from the Middle Ages, anyway?”

“That is because I _am_ courting you.”

“Well, ease off. There’s a fine line between courting and stalking, the way you’re doing it. And when you stalk, you’re like a giant prehistoric predator from a Jurassic Park movie.”

“I’m sorry.” Drax looked painfully confused. “How… How would you prefer that I approach you?”

“I’d prefer that you didn’t approach me, period.”

Drax’s face fell.

Peter refused to feel guilty. There was nothing wrong with rejecting someone’s advances. Happened all the time. It happened to _Peter_ all the time. He’d often worn precisely the same expression that Drax was wearing, right this instant. Well. Maybe not as crushed and devastated and _broken_ , but—

“Look,” Peter sighed, resigning himself to educating Drax. For Drax’s own good. “You gotta understand that no matter what grand romance you’re enacting in the safety of your mind, most students in this school aren’t entirely comfortable with the jockiest jock that ever jocked suddenly going queer. Ergo, your sporty pals are blaming me for seducing you with my magic gay mojo, or whatever, and I’m paying the price for it. Doesn’t make any sense, yeah, but rational deduction isn’t exactly the strong point of you beefy types, is it?”

As Peter spoke, Drax’s confusion cleared, only to be replaced by a dangerously darkening scowl. “What do you mean, paying the price? What have my teammates been doing to you?”

“Um.” Peter realized the magnitude of his mistake. He was on the verge of sparking a civil war within the football team, and he’d never wanted civil blood to make civil hands unclean. Nor had he intended to be the gleek that launched a thousand ships. Or a single, deadly Destroyer. “Not much?”

Drax’s eyebrows lowered. “What. Have they. Been doing. To you.”

“Victimizing him,” Groot said, unexpectedly, still seemingly peaceful, but there was a hint of steel in his otherwise sleepy voice. “Ambushing him, when he’s alone. Partially stripping him. Tying him to poles. Cyber-bullying him. Verbally harassing him. Dunking his head in toilets.”

“Groot!” Peter hissed. “You’re not helping!”

Groot shrugged. “I’m Groot,” he said, as if that was a sufficient explanation for his actions.

Rocket put in: “I offered to set those bastards on fire, but Peter doesn’t believe in revenge-killing.”

“I would call it justice,” Gamora said, “but yes, Peter has disturbing scruples.”

“They aren’t _disturbing_ ,” Peter objected. “They're perfectly normal.”

“This is my fault,” Drax whispered to himself, horrified. “I did not comprehend the sociopolitical nuances of courting a member of the same sex in a heteronormative environment.”

“Are you sure your IQ isn’t actually really, really high?” Rocket asked Drax, but Drax ignored him, focusing on Peter with renewed intensity.

“I will avenge you,” Drax swore to Peter, alarmingly earnest.

“Don’t!” Peter yelped. “You’ll only make it worse. Just forget any of this happened, give up on me, and go back to your life. No use rocking the boat, when it’s been doing such an excellent job of ferrying you across the stormy seas of adolescence.”

“But that would mean leaving you on the shore.” Drax straightened, his jaw firming in determination. “And that would be dishonorable.”

“Dishonorable?” Peter almost choked on the word. “What are you, a Knight of the Round Table? Am I the Holy Grail?”

“Eh, Drax ain’t that bad,” Rocket said. “I kinda like ’im, honestly, now that I can see he isn’t a jerk. I’m also pleasantly surprised by his ability to use metaphors. It’s grown by leaps and bounds.”

“I’ve hired a tutor to help me with literature and literary terminology,” Drax said.

“Four for you, Glen Coco,” Peter said. “Just. Don’t start a one-man revolution, got it?”

“All revolutions must start with one individual.”

“Yeah,” said Peter, slowly, “but why does it have to be _you_?”

“Because I’m the only one capable of facing the whole football team in combat.”

“You’ll lose your position as captain,” Peter reminded Drax, desperate to stop this train wreck before it began, and equally desperate to prevent his brain from playing the theme of _Mortal Combat_ on repeat.

“A position has no meaning without the power to back it up.”

“We’re _teenagers_. The only thing we oughta worry about backing up is our homework. On our computers.”

“We are teenagers, which is why we can change the future.”

“We are Groot,” Groot agreed. He was probably implying that all creatures were united in an indivisible consciousness. Or something.

“I am glad you concur,” said Drax to Groot, and then they shared a weird, non-verbal moment of spiritual commiseration before Drax turned on his heel and marched off. Toward the entrance that led to the locker rooms.

Crap. Crap. _Crap_.

Chatter filled the hall again, louder than before.

“Oh my god,” Peter said. “He’s gone Gaston on me. Does that make me Belle? Tell me it doesn’t make me Belle.”

“I think he’s more like the Beast,” Gamora said, very obviously not negating the Belle idea, and Peter scoffed.

“Nope, he’s way too popular to be the Beast.”

“He won’t be popular for long. Not if he does what I think he’s about to do.”

Rocket grinned, wild and feral. “I could equip him with a Molotov cocktail or two.”

“No, you couldn’t,” Peter scolded, but Rocket just smirked at him.

Jesus. This school was going to be razed to the ground. At this rate, Peter wouldn’t be shocked if the principal pulled a Dumbledore and toppled off the clock-tower. “I liked you better when you adhered to the edicts of your pacifist boyfriend,” Peter said, and Rocket laughed—a sharp, jagged sound.

“If you believe Groot was ever a pacifist, you never knew him, at all.”

Groot responded by producing a flawless, uncrumpled flower from thin air—seriously, where was he carrying this stuff?—and tucking it into the spot where Rocket’s glasses met his left ear. Rocket blushed.

Yep. That was vintage Groot. Not a pacifist. Just a tree-hugging, pot-smoking, flower-gifting beast of malice and destruction. Uh-huh.

Gamora drained the dregs of her drink and screwed the cap onto her plastic bottle. “I’m interested in seeing whether Drax is just bluster, or whether he’ll deliver.”

“Why is everyone talking like they’re on _The Sopranos_?” Peter bemoaned. “This is ridiculous.”

 

* * *

 


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

 

The phrase “calm before the storm” perfectly described the following few days. A strange, electric tension settled over the school, a tension that grew palpably thicker whenever a member of the football team passed by.

Passed by, and _didn’t bother Peter_.

Didn’t even look at him.

Peter was tempted to check that he wasn’t wearing an Invisibility Cloak, because that was some Jedi shit, right there. Wait, he was mixing his cultural references. He must be more unnerved than he thought.

“Pay attention, kid,” said Yondu, also known as Mr. Udonta, the only teacher who’d surrendered to Peter’s repeated, dogged attempts to secure a club sponsor. Apparently, persistence was a trait Peter and Drax had in common. “You’re singing ‘Hooked On a Feeling’ like you _aren’t_ high on believing, and that just won’t cut it for the finals.”

“I know, I know.” Peter resisted the urge to gaze out of the window at the football team, currently mid-practice, like the glee club. Except that the captain of the football team—Drax—didn’t seem to have trouble concentrating on what he was doing, while Peter, the president of the glee club, couldn’t stop peeking out of the window every 0.5 seconds, trying to spot Drax’s distinctive broad shoulders. What the fuck was wrong with Peter? It was almost as if he was _concerned_ about that idiot. “Sorry.”

The other Ravagers were rehearsing their parts without a hitch, and it occurred to Peter that he was holding them back, and would continue holding them back until this situation with Drax was resolved. Drax’s teammates hadn’t fought with him physically—not so far, anyway—but there was this atmosphere of simmering violence beneath the surface.

Drax must’ve had words with his team, which was why they weren’t going after Peter, but Peter wasn’t sure how long that situation would last. Or how long Drax could avoid being ganged up on by the guys he used to consider his friends, especially given how the football practice happening outside had a higher than average frequency of shoving and tackling. Shoving and tackling with Drax as its target. If it kept on like this, Drax would wind up with broken bones.

“Horuz? Kraglin? You’re in charge,” Peter said to the twins with the guitars, and excused himself after apologizing to Yondu once again.

“We’ll eat you alive if you ruin this for us,” Yondu threatened, and Peter smiled crookedly.

“You and the rest of this crazy school.”

Peter slung his bag over his shoulder and headed down to the chem labs, one of which was, as usual, occupied by Rocket, who had goggles over his eyes and smoking gloves on his hands. The lab stank of charred rubber. There was a complex interlocking system of glass tubes and beakers and bunsen burners on top of the counter in front of which Rocket hovered, and at the opposite end of the room, Groot was rolling a joint with a vague expression that belied the nimbleness of his fingers.

If Rocket hadn’t won the National Science Fair the year before, he wouldn’t have been given free reign of the labs. It was a good thing nobody could explain what exactly Rocket was working on. Peter was certain it wasn’t completely legal. Or at all legal.

“Yo, future criminal,” Peter called, and Rocket turned to peer at him through his goggles _and_ his spectacles. His white coat was stained with ash and oil.

“Criminal mastermind, thank you,” Rocket said. “Be accurate.”

“Accurate, huh?”

Rocket tapped himself on the chest. “I’m the brains of this operation.” He gestured at Groot. “He’s the brawn.”

“Speaking of brawn, I could, er, use some.”

“What for?” Rocket asked, although his tone indicated that he already knew.

“I’mma be brave and confront the football team.”

“That’s not brave, you imbecile. It’s suicidal.”

“It… doesn’t seem right, leaving Drax to deal with everything on his own.” Peter shifted guiltily from foot to foot. “I feel like a coward.”

Rocket stared at Peter. “Holy shit,” he said, eventually. “It worked.”

“What worked?”

“Drax’s freaky courtship routine.”

“It did _not_!” Peter spluttered. “I don’t want to _date_ him, I just don’t want him to _die_. There’s a difference.”

“We are Groot.” Groot took a puff from his joint, his eyelids dipping in pleasure. “That is why you do not want him to die.”

“You’d make the world’s worst relationship counselor,” Peter huffed, then realized what he’d said. “Not that there’s a relationship to counsel! Because there isn’t.”

“Clearly,” Rocket drawled. “And why the hell are you asking me if you can borrow Groot? Stop treating me like Groot’s pimp, for god’s sake.”

“I figured you were an atheist.”

“An atheist, not a pimp.”

“Fine. Groot, you up for dispensing a bit of justice?”

“I’m Groot,” Groot said, approvingly, and put his joint out before standing, unfolding his frame to its full, impressive height.

Rocket began putting away his gear, as well. A couple of bottles that bore a suspicious resemblance to Molotov cocktails went into a cardboard box which Rocket hauled off the counter.

“What’re you doing?” Peter asked.

“As the quartermaster of your three-man army, it’s my responsibility to keep you supplied.”

“Supplied with what?”

“Explosive materials.”

“Rocket, we’re not Resistance fighters during World War II. We’re not blowing up Nazi bridges, okay?”

Rocket pouted. “What about people? Can we blow up people?”

“ _No_. Put that stuff back where it came from.”

“But it came from my brain.”

“I swear to fucking _god_ —”

“Aren’t you an atheist, too?”

“Agnostic, technically. Put. That. Box. Back.”

Rocket did as he was told—miracle of miracles—but Peter was familiar enough with Rocket to know that he must have miniature smoke-bombs or canisters of home-made pepper spray tucked into hidden pockets somewhere on his person.

“All done?” Peter drew himself up. “Let’s go.”

“What about Gamora?”

“I don’t wanna get her disqualified from the karate team. The state trials are next week, man.”

“You realize she’ll have your hide for leaving her outta this.”

“I doubt there’ll be a hide _left_ for her to have, to be honest.” Peter turned to Groot. “Hey, Lurch. No snapping necks, capisce?”

Groot clenched and unclenched his fists. “Groot will be gentle.”

Peter snorted. “Gentle as a bulldozer, yeah. Try not to land anybody in hospital.”

Groot looked conveniently uncomprehending, like he did when he wanted to fool his friends into thinking he wasn’t aware of what he was doing.

“You ain’t fooling me,” Peter said, and Rocket beamed, like he was goddamn well proud of his boyfriend’s violent impulses.

If Peter ever did hypothetically date Drax—not that he would—Peter would definitely have him on a tighter leash. The bigger the hound, the tighter the leash had to be.

Great, now he was picturing leashes. That was _so_ productive. Not.

 

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler for the upcoming chapter: Gamora doesn’t get left out of the fighting. Of course she doesn’t.

**Author's Note:**

> Like my writing? Want updates and sneak previews? Follow me on [Tumblr](http://saucefactory.tumblr.com/)!


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